Only What I Knew
by The Serendipity
Summary: She was cute, she was abandoned, she was brave, she was my dream, now she's lost. But sometimes hope finds us in unexpected places. Highlights of Peeta's life, mostly during the Games, told from Peeta's point of veiw, all concern Katniss in some way.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games

I was just five. How could I be thinking I already liked girls? I was only five. I was still supposed to enjoy eating mud and grass. I didn't even know anything about girls. My brothers all said they were gross and had a raccoon disease.

But the girl in the red and white dress that Papa pointed out sure looked pretty. Maybe one day I would like to marry her, like Papa had wanted to marry Mama.

Would the other kids think I was weird if I told them that? I bet so.

"Peeta! Come play!" shouted a voice which broke me out of my daydream. "We need you to make out teams even!" hollered Kylo, who's pa owned the District 12 livery.

I looked to see who's chase team I would be on. _Her's._ "Coming!" I yelled back.

Not once in the entire thirteen minutes did she notice me. _Oh-well. I have plenty of time to get to know her._

On an after thought I came to the conclusion that I was definitely a weird child.

* * *

"Ma, look! There's a girl outside. One of the ones who lost her pa a few weeks ago," I told my Ma and tugged on her sleeve and pointed out the window. There stood Katniss Everdeen out in the freezing weather, crippled against our fence. Judging strictly by the way she looked, I would've bet she was nearly starved.

Suddenly I noticed Ma charging off.

_Uh-oh._ My ma had never been the kindest of souls, and I really didn't want Katniss to get hurt. Ma hit real hard.

"Ma, wait!" I cried. "Ma, please leave her alone!"

Then Ma turned and whacked me upside the head, and I saw my vision go fuzzy for a moment. Thankfully though, it wasn't where it would leave a visible mark.

"That girl has no right to be on our property unless she comes to buy food!" Ma raged. "I will tell her to get lost if I please, and you, Peeta, will mind your own business and return to the kitchen to watch the bread. Don't you dare let it burn either. Then we'll have to throw it out, and you with it."

"Yes. Ma," I replied sullenly. I wished there was something I could do to help. A way I could befriend Katniss, who still barely knew me as anything other than the baker's son, and who I still thought very pretty.

_Wait! I can burn the bread on purpose! It might mean a few extra whacks from Ma, but I don't care. If she's truly hungry, what are a few black spots?_

A few minutes later I was second guessing myself as my eyes watered from the blow my ma had just dealt me to the face for the blackened bread.

"… say you know what you're doing, but you are never responsible! How do you expect to grow up? Those two loaves took three hours to rise! That's three hours I don't get back! Take this bread out to the hogs! They're looking a little skimpy anyway. Can you manage that, you dolt? Go!" bringing Ma's screech to an end.

Quickly, I gathered the two charred loaves and wandered out to the pen where the pigs were kept. Slowly, I glanced over to where Katniss was. Hunger gazed back at me.

Just I case Ma was watching, I cautiously and slowly tore a small end of the crispy crust into the hog pen. As the crust landed, I took another peek at Katniss, who was still watching me with an eagle eye. Then in one swift movement, I lobbed the bread to the ground at her feet. When I saw the appreciation in her eyes, I hurriedly made sure the second loaf's trail followed the first's.

I watched Katniss slide the bread under her skirt, and with a final look of thanks cast in my direction, she hustled away.

I sighed and turned to go back in side to finish helping Ma. Maybe now I could finally be Katniss' hero.

I had decided a long time ago that when it came to her, I was very weird indeed.

* * *

So maybe my gift to her hadn't been enough. Six years had passed, and Katniss Everdeen still didn't know much about me. Peeta. The bakery boy. That was all I would bet she knew about me. I registered next to nothing in her mind, I was sure.

On the other hand, I felt I knew so much about her. That she could shoot a squirrel through the eyes with an arrow and kill it, every single time. That she was the primary provider for her family's food income. That she sometimes ran with a hooligan guy I didn't know.

Did she fancy him? Were all my chances finally gone? What was so special about this guy anyway? He wasn't from the higher classes for sure. I'd know him then.

But I was still fairly certain that she saw me around. First there was school, and every child in District 12 goes to the same school, so of course everyone saw everyone. Then there was the Hob, where Pa and I would go to get more flour and such. For bakers, the district sure didn't provide us enough. And the whole school had been present at the wrestling match I was in last year.

I still have trouble believing I won.

But today was the Reaping. And I have to trust fate to keep me safe today. That is one thing I really. Really wish I didn't have to do. Fate doesn't seem to like me, you see.

* * *

AN: Sooo, whadaya think? Just in case you are wondering, the story IS written from Peeta's point of veiw, but I am a girl. I am one of those 'weird' children. Future chapter lengths may vary.


	2. Chapter 2

*Standard disclaimer applies. Here's chapter 2!

Today is the day of the reaping, and I just can't wait for the day to be over. Each year, this day casts a silence on the whole district, parents muted by worry, relief, and compassion, children resorting to hushed what ifs and pleas. Throughout all of 12, those who have no one to worry about in the reaping are made solemn by memories of their friends, relatives, and loved ones that have been lost to the Games.

And then there is after the reaping. It's almost worse than before. People celebrating their own security, almost as if they don't understand how shallow it is. So you, your child, your brother of sister didn't get called. There are plenty more ways you can die just as easily in the District; starvation, freezing to death, coalmine cave in, sickness, fire. But still, except for the families of those unlucky two, once the Tributes are gone, the District breaks into celebration.

Everyone, that is, except Ma. When my brothers were younger she seemed to share some of the fear that other parents shared, but over the years she has shown less and less care for the emotions of everyone around us. But then, after the Tributes are gone, she becomes silent. In that way we are alike, neither of us ever feel much like celebrating at the woes of others.

A lot of times I feel sorry for Ma. I sometimes think she knows Pa has always cared more for another than for her, and it has made her bitter, and that bitterness has been absorbed into every ounce of her being. I feel that bitterness in the way she has been a mother to me, see it in the way she bakes the bread. You can learn a lot from the way a person makes bread. The way Pa gently folds and mixes the dough tells you he loves his work, and it's the same way I frost the cakes. But Ma… She pounds the dough. Beats it down, throws it against the counter, and slams it into the oven. Only when she removes the pastries from their pans and places them in the displays and she sees that she has accomplished something does she display anything but her usual though exterior.

This morning is all wrong for this day. It's bright and clear, almost hopeful. Besides all that though, it starts out like most days do for me. I rise when our rooster begins crowing, dress, and begin my chores. First I will help either Ma or Pa mix the bread and cookie dough, and the batter for pastries, muffins, and cakes. Then it's out to help my brothers care for the animals until it's time for breakfast.

Breakfast is always the worst meal of the day for my family. It's at breakfast where our bread is the most stale, and where Ma is grouchiest, always fretting over the day to come. By night her cares are usually appeased by the sales of the day, and we all eat better on the item we didn't sell, but don't want to keep over night.

Today we must prepare twice is much in the morning to sell. We will close the bakery for the reaping, and open it soon after, and we must be ready to go all out when we reopen. Reaping day is usually one of our best business days with all the people rejoicing their safety and others purchasing tokens of condolences. It's also one of the rare days when Ma bakes for the family afterwards. I suppose, in a lot of ways, it's how she expresses her relief and despair at the end of the day. However, what it means the most is that today I will be busy.

At the reaping I stand with my brother and several of our friends from school. Watching everyone arrive is one of the most emotional parts of the day, knowing that when it comes time to leave, not everyone will be able return home. As I watch, part of me is just watching, and part of me is searching for someone; Katniss Everdeen.

At this point in my life, I've begun to accept that I have basically wasted eleven years of my life pining after Katniss without actually doing anything about it. At first I was mostly just shy, and didn't want people to the think I was weird for wanting to talk to a girl, but that excuse can only work for so long. Eventually the other boys in the district began taking an interest in girls, but there were still some things that held me back. For one, I was always more of a quiet person. Sure I had plenty of friends, but it's almost hard to _not_ have friends with brothers like mine. I suppose it also had something to do with the way people listened when I did speak my mind. I apparently had a knack for storytelling and being expressive with words, though a lot of times I find expressing myself through the icing on a cake is much more relieving.

Building on that, Katniss was so… unreachable. She was the kind of person that it took courage to say hello to, and even more courage to wait for her response. And even though I had had opportunities to be around many of the other girls our age, most of them, except Madge, the mayor's daughter, were nothing like Katniss, and therefore did little to help.

Finally, there was the problem of the other guy. Not much to explain there, just a lot to figure out.

No matter to all of that though. I could still look for her today. The girls always look exceptional at the reaping, and for once, Katniss was never the exception. Finally, I saw her arrive with her little sister, Prim. Pa has always said Prim looks exactly like her mother did when she was younger, and if what he says is true, I can definitely see how Pa fell for her as adorable as Prim is.

Soon everyone has arrived and Effie Trinket comes to the stage to announce the tributes. It's time for everyone to say their final prayers, pleas, and promises to fate, ask that their luck pulls through. The children with tesserae count their odds, something I'm am beyond grateful I don't have to do.

Then the first name is called. It's Prim. In that instant, I know what will happen next, and my heart breaks. It's then I realize just how much one can care for a person without actually knowing them, because I know that it's not going to be Prim going into the Hunger Games, it's going to be Katniss, ever striving to protect her family.

Sure enough, Prim doesn't even make it a foot away from her sister before Katniss is pulling her back, insisting on taking her place. Katniss' friend comes to retrieve Prim, and in that moment I truly hate him. He should be saving Katniss, telling her to stay, even though she would never listen, but still… And it's not just all that! _He _is the one there for her in this time. Even if she were to return after this, _he_ would automatically be where her heart was because _he_ was the one to help her rescue Prim. As I watch Katniss climb the platform, I know that my chances at what I wanted out of life are gone.

And suddenly that knowledge doubles, because my name has just been called, and I know as a fact that my days are numbered; I refuse to return if she won't be here.

So… ummm, yeah. Hope it wasn't too terrible!


	3. Chapter 3

Once again, standard disclaimer applies.

Maybe this will actually get finished at some point after all.

As I make this realization, my feet begin dragging my body towards the stage. My mind however is somewhere else entirely. All I can take in is this certainty that I will not be returning. How do you convince yourself to walk to your death? Though I know that I still have time, it's not much. Two or three weeks probably, if I last any distance of time at all in the arena. And there's not much living to be done once I leave. The tributes' time spent in the capitol isn't for fulfilling a dream or doing your favorite thing one last time. No, it's for preparing yourself to either fight for your life or be slaughtered. It's a time for the Capitol to turn you into who they want you to be in the arena. No, once I climb these stairs, my life ends.

While I stand on the podium listening to the mayor make his speech I look over at Katniss. Was it really worth me saving her with that bread all those years ago, just… Just…Save….

Save! That word echoes in my mind, which has finally returned. Maybe I'm a goner. I don't want to return to a life empty of my dreams when this is all over, and maybe there won't be much I can actually do in the Capitol as far as living my life is concerned, but in the arena… In the arena I have options. Maybe not too many with the kill or be killed concept in mind that, but there are some. People have created alliances before, helped each other out- why can't I? Even if Katniss doesn't want me as an ally, whose says there's nothing I can do? I can still _try_. I can try to help her, to give her a reason to remember me, to make sure she comes back alive. I'm not out of options just yet.

With these strategies unfolding in my mind, I almost miss the mayor asking the tributes to shake hands. As I reach over and grab Katniss' hand, I look her in the eye, and almost without realizing what I'm doing, give her hand a squeeze, almost as if I'm trying to grant her reassurance, but at the same time, it's almost impossible to share something you yourself don't truly feel.

When we turn back to the crowd, I witness something spectacular: a salute to Katniss, and how much this sorry District has come to know and believe in her. I know it's not for me for I have never done much to earn anyone's respect, except maybe for putting up with my Ma and wrestling, but those actions don't warrant the same as those Katniss achieves. Surviving almost on her own and providing for her mother and Prim, learning to hunt quite masterfully, being one of them, not just the baker's boy. This realization adds some doubt to my plan. Why would she need _me _when she has achieved all of _this_ on her own?

A while later as I'm waiting in the Justice building, my Pa comes in.

I look up at him and in that moment, I don't feel brave. I feel five years old, hand in hand with my father asking whom the pretty girl in the red dress is. In his eyes, I can see that he understands why I won't be the one coming back.

"I asked your ma to let me talk to you by myself awhile." I nod. "Peeta… I… I can't speak for you, only for myself, but I believe I see in you something I once saw in myself, and something that I prayed I would never see in my children. I see someone who is watching their dreams slip away. I just want to tell you not to give in to that illusion, okay? Once you leave this room, I want you to spend every moment you can being who you always thought you'd be. If you have already accepted that you are about to die, then what more can anyone do to you? You have nothing to fear now." Here Pa sat next to me and gave me a hug.

For a moment I just sat in silence, attempting to absorb the comfort my father was trying to pass to me, but then I had something to say, "Thanks, Pa. I love you."

"You too, boy. You've been a great son." And then he was gone.

Almost immediately after he walked out of the room, my mother flew in. For a long moment, Ma just stares at me. In her eyes I see none of the compassion that was in Pa's. Instead, I watch a volcano of frustration preparing to explode. And then she suddenly just looks weary.

"Ma-," I start, but am quickly interrupted.

"Look here Peeta," she commands, "you've been a good boy. Maybe a bit on the quiet side, but a good boy. That's not going to save you from these games though, so you better decide what we want out of these games. Maybe this year we'll finally have a victor. A real one, not some fool like Haymitch. She's a fighter that girl, and if I know my son at all I know that you're just going to continue on being the "nice" boy he's always been. So you go now, ya hear? You go make up your mind and decide if you're coming back or not. But be my good boy a little longer and don't tell me anything about what you will or won't do once you leave this District. I won't have you turned into a liar. I've lived with lies my entire life, and nothing good has ever come from any of them! Your pa's lies have always been the worst, and you know exactly what I mean! You're so like him. Any lie you told me now would be just as bad, so please, just don't say anything," she says, freezing me with her stare, her shell crumbling around the edges. For once I could see just how much my ma did care.

So I didn't say anything. For a minute I just stayed in my seat staring at my mother, the woman of impossible resistance finally breaking down, and then I walked over to her, put my arms around her and said nothing.

Then, so softly I almost didn't hear it, I caught her murmuring three little words "Trust your heart," before she pulled away and left.

Several others came by, my brothers and a few friends, but no one I saw after my parents really left me with anything but a further sense of hollowness. As if with every person that came and went, a bit of the me who had always been was leaving with each of them and leaving behind room for me to finally be the guy my pa talked of me being and who my ma implied I should try to be. That someone who acts by what is in their hearts and leaves nothing behind.


End file.
